


Two Minutes

by Robin_Fai



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Child Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23972491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Fai/pseuds/Robin_Fai
Summary: “You wouldn’t last two minutes in a place like this.” Jakes muttered, just loud enough that only Morse could hear.The words haunt him. The injustice of it makes it hard to meet the other man’s eye. He doesn't know how wrong he is. He doesn't know how much they have in common.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 64





	Two Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> This came about as the result of wondering how things might be if Morse and Jakes had more in common than they might like. By the nature of the themes involved this came out kind of bleak. Nothing is explicitly stated but please do heed the tags.

Jakes looked around at the entrance hall of the tattered and bruised boys reform school. A pair of lads, barely six or seven years old, shoved past the assembled police on their way to lessons. In the distance, a young voice could be heard screaming obscenities. Jakes glanced back at Morse and gave a derisive snort.

“You wouldn’t last two minutes in a place like this.” He muttered, just loud enough that only Morse could hear. 

They were on good terms these days. Everything had changed after Blenheim Vale and prison. This particular jibe, however, cut deep. It was meant harmlessly. No doubt Jakes imagined Morse’s education through his younger years was in establishments fitting with someone who later studied at Oxford. 

“As a teacher or a student?” He asked, trying to keep the sharp edge from cutting through his tone.

Jakes looked Morse up and down with a critical look. “I suppose you might just about make it as a teacher.”

Morse felt like his insides had been pulled out. A hollowness filled him. He wanted to shout back, but there’s only the silence of secrets he can never tell, so he cannot speak.

The headmaster arrived then. A stern, disinterested man who looked down his nose at the assembled officers of the law. He elected only to talk to Thursday.

\----

Jakes spent the rest of the day trying to get back on good terms with him. Morse wanted to let it slide, pretend it never happened, get back to the unspoken truce and fledgling friendship they had formed, but he couldn’t get those words out of his head.

He knew which accusation was the worst of the two. The idea that Peter could imagine him cruel enough to number the ranks of the teachers at this kind of place hurt him more than he could express. He could only hope Jakes was imagining him as one of those optimistic fools who blundered in thinking they could fix everything. Regardless, it was Jakes’ original words that stuck in his mind. They repeat themselves over and over, the disdain in them eating away at his concentration.

_‘You wouldn’t last two minutes’_

The injustice of it makes it hard to meet the other man’s eye. 

He’d understood all too well that other day, that awful day, why Jakes couldn’t come with him. He’d thought of his own ghosts and imagined facing them. Though he had fervently hoped for justice to find them for years since, he had never been able to bring it down upon them himself. 

So he had understood, and more than that – he had thought that they had found some common ground, even if Jakes didn’t know it.

But of course Jakes couldn’t see past the polish, let alone the veneer. Morse couldn’t blame him for that really. He’d spent so long curating that façade

\----

They spent several days warily settling back to their respective safe spaces. He was pretty sure Jakes had no idea what he had done. Morse wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, to move on, but those words kept haunting him. _‘You wouldn’t last two minutes...’_ So things remained uneasy, and unspoken, between them.

The suicide at the school was ruled to be just that. Morse thought there was more to it, but he was so out of sorts he found himself unable to advocate for the poor boy as fervently as he normally would. He felt guilty, but he couldn’t seem to summon the right words to get anyone to take him seriously.

To his shame he let it drop. Morse didn’t pursue the case once it was closed. Maybe he really was wrong this time.

\----

Two weeks later there was another ‘suicide’, this time at a prestigious local grammar school.

If it hadn’t been for the age and background of the victim, Morse had no doubt he would have been sent over on his own with strict instructions not to go looking for patterns where there were none. As it was, he was once again joined by Thursday and Jakes. 

Jakes looked uncomfortable in the rather grand hallway they were waiting in. They all looked out of place here, Morse thought. Then, in perhaps yet another ill advised attempt at clearing the air between them, Jakes leaned in, nudged him, and whispered in a jovial voice.

“This is more your sort of haunt now, isn’t it?”

Jakes was smiling. He meant no harm. He really didn’t.

Jakes couldn’t know that it was a place like this that had saved Morse. 

It had been awful at first. He hadn’t fitted in; the other children knew he was from a much worse background than them. He was common, he’d been in a school for children that were _deviant_ , he wasn’t one of them. Morse had had to work so hard to become invisible all over again, but at least he’d been able to learn. 

He had found poetry, and prose, and all the great authors. It had even been in a corridor like this that the first distant strains of opera had reached him, reached his heart, and saved his life.

These places could be cold, clique-ridden, and completely focussed on achievement. It had almost driven him to suicide. Then it had been his saving. It had set the path for his whole life. His scholarship to Oxford had only been possible because of it.

Being in such a school had shaped him. It had made him the distant person he now was. It had taught him to value literature and music over human contact. It had made him wary of what lay behind offers of kindness. He wouldn’t want to go back there. To choose such isolation and misery would be madness. 

Yet the other option, the one that had come before, had been far worse. 

He didn’t doubt that, had his education remained true to its earlier path, his life would have ended by sixteen. _‘You wouldn’t last two minutes’_ He had lasted far longer than two minutes, but he wouldn’t have lasted that many years.

Morse didn’t reply to Jakes. He was too consumed by his memories. He didn’t see the look of concern that flickered across Jakes’ face.

\----

There was a pattern of course. Not that anyone would listen to him about it. He wanted to shake them, make them see that these boys just wouldn’t have committed suicide. It was all wrong.

“What would you know about suicide?” Jakes huffed at him.

Morse mentally added it to the list of things that Peter Jakes most definitely had wrong about him.

“I know they wouldn’t have done that.”

“It does happen you know, Morse,” Jakes said softly. “Sometimes things really are that simple.”

He didn’t want to listen any more. Morse picked up his jacket and walked out of the station. Jakes was calling after him but all he could hear were the other things he had said.

_‘You wouldn’t last two minutes...’  
‘What would you know about suicide?’_

Why did it hurt so much? Why did it matter what Peter Jakes thought of him?

\----

The third ‘suicide’ proved him right. There was no denying the pattern after that. He wished he’d been wrong.

Three young lives wasted. Two of those they could have saved if only they had done their jobs properly. If only he’d spoken up.

The latest was at a local secondary school. It was the exact mid-point between the near institution they had visited first, and the grammar school that had come next. It was beyond puzzling to think who would have access to poison three boys from such different backgrounds in their schools. More baffling was the ‘why’ of it. There didn’t seem to be any connection except for how they had died and that the schools were all within a five mile radius.

Jakes didn’t make any remarks as they visited the school. He had been strangely quiet ever since Morse had walked out on him.

\----

It was decided by Bright that, as the investigation was so light on information, they needed to send someone undercover. The first school was decided upon as they hadn’t visited it more than twice and barely been seen by any of the pupils. Thursday agreed that after a month it was unlikely that they would be picked out.

Morse was assigned to work the case as he had the most relevant education for teaching. Jakes volunteered to be a second and was assigned a role as a grounds-keeper. Morse wished Jakes hadn’t volunteered, he didn’t need looking after. Although it did amuse him that once Jakes heard what his part would be he looked like he regretted offering. Peter wasn’t exactly a scruffy out of doors manual labour type.

\----

Things went well the first few days. They didn’t find anything, but no one suspected them for police. The boys Morse was assigned to teach were no match for his stubbornness and vocal training. He soon had them silent, if not necessarily listening. Maybe Jakes had been right about him.

They didn’t have much cause to cross paths as each interacted with a different sector of the staff and pupils so they debriefed each evening. Jakes had a small cottage, barely more than a hut, on site. Morse had a rental in the village. Jakes made a point of being seen drinking in the local pub then would slip away so he could speak with Morse. It was then down to Morse to call and update Thursday.

After a couple of days Morse couldn’t help but notice how exhausted Jakes looked. The school hadn’t had a grounds keeper for months so he had his work cut out for him trying to battle the land back into shape. Morse made a point to ensure he left a coffee and a bun from the bakery he was living above outside Jakes’ hut on his way in each morning. The coldness of the past few weeks melted away and they found a new camaraderie in the shared experience.

\----

The instant he set eyes on the visiting priest, Morse knew.

He knew this was the answer to their conundrum. This man had killed the three boys. He just didn’t know why. 

Something about him was nastily familiar. It scratched and clawed at the memories he kept locked away until they began bleeding through into every waking minute of the day. 

He didn’t say anything to Jakes or Thursday. He would need more than a bad feeling to accuse a priest.

\----

The answer came to him the next night. It tore him from a nightmare, the knowledge burning away all hope of sleep.

The trouble was that the answer didn’t make it any easier to accuse the man. Back then he had just been an older student. He had been vicious, a bully, but just a child. The idea that he had chosen the church was hard to fathom. It was a puzzle he didn’t particularly want to solve. The thought of going back to that school made him feel sick to his very soul but he had to find the justice those boys deserved.

At least he hadn’t been recognised.

\----

The next morning he felt like he was sleepwalking. Nothing felt real or solid. He walked to the school in a daze and taught his classes without paying any attention to the chaos that evolved when he wasn’t keeping a tight reign on the pupils’ behaviour.

Morning break found him outside, trying to find some fresh air, rather than setting up for his next class. Everything felt stale and devoid of oxygen in the classroom. He wished the windows would open.

A waft of cigarette smoke mingled with the clear air he’d come in search of. Jakes leant back against the wall beside him.

“Cracking already?”

“What gave you that idea?”

Jakes shrugged. “Lack of coffee this morning, and the fact you’re skiving off out here with us commoners.”

Morse scowled. “I needed some air.”

Why did everything always have to be so difficult with Jakes. Why did he always have to go about making digs about him being the college boy. Yes, it was what he was, but he was also the boy from the reform school, the one with the divorced parents, the poor one, the scholarship boy. 

_‘You wouldn’t last two minutes...’_

He clenched his fists in his pockets. The age old instinct to run and hide, to make himself small and invisible, warring with his learned arrogance, the need to distance himself with pride and unpopular opinions.

“They’re good cakes at that bakery of yours. I’m feeling the lack of sugar today.” Jakes nudged him and offered a peacemaking smile.

“Not too posh for you then?” Morse couldn’t help himself biting back. 

“Oh come on, Morse! You know I was joking.”

The casual tone pushed Morse over the edge. His nerves were too frayed for this. Fight and flight instincts pulled him in conflicting directions. “Yeah. It’s always a joke to you isn’t it, Peter? You know what? You don’t know a thing about me. Not really. You don’t know _anything!_ So how about you run along back to raking leaves or whatever it is you do all day and I’ll get on with working this bloody case.” 

He turned and marched back into the building. Jakes called after him, but he ignored him.

\----

Morse could quite happily have kept on walking, right through the school, out the front door, out the gates, out… Just out.

Instead, as he made his way down the corridor, he was met by the headmaster and the priest.

“Ah, Evans, you’ve not yet met Father Grayling, have you?”

Morse fixed a polite smile on his face. “Only in passing.” 

“A pleasure to meet you… Evans was it?” The priest held out his hand and Morse tried to think of a way to avoid shaking it. Eventually, at a loss, he took the other man’s hand.

“John.” He gave his cover name. His instincts kicked in and he pressed for more information despite wanting to run. “What is it you do here exactly?”

A flicker of a frown crossed Grayling’s brow but was quickly wiped away. “Just visiting. I have a few parishioners here. I find visiting for confession is more efficient.”

“Interesting. Do you visit any of the other schools in the area?” Morse hoped this might give him enough cause to raise the matter to Thursday. 

“If I have call to.” Grayling replied. Morse’s heart beat faster. They had a connection between the schools now. He realised he had been hoping he was wrong. “And yourself? Do you follow a faith?” 

“Not as such.” Morse couldn’t bring himself to lie, no matter how useful it would be right then to keep the man on side.

Another teacher called the headmaster over then, and they parted ways. 

Morse tried to keep himself steady until he was clear of everyone. The east wing proved his refuge. It was closed for refurbishment but had been for months and the rooms there were as far away from the classrooms in use as he could get. He leant back against the tiled wall of a dead end corridor and sank to the floor, resting his head upon his knees. 

Morse knew he had a class to teach, and that he needed to keep his cover intact, but he just _couldn’t._ He couldn’t get up. He couldn’t go back out there. He couldn’t face Grayling and his past again.

_‘You wouldn’t last two minutes...’_

Peter was right. Of course he was right. He couldn’t do this.

\----

His absence from class went unnoticed by the staff. The pupils had no motivation to report that their teacher had not turned up. Morse crept home before the end of the day feeling defeated. He made sure to take a route that would be less likely to be observed by Jakes. The last thing he needed was his superior officer crowing over his failure.

He’d obviously not done a good enough job because half an hour after getting back there was a knock at his door. He knew Jakes’ knock well enough to know it wasn’t anyone else. He stayed in the bedroom and pretended not to be in.

Evening brought Jakes to his door again. The evening debrief was due. This time he couldn’t hide. Morse opened the door and waved him in. He tried not to notice the way Peter’s eyes swept the room, searching for anything illicit, a bottle, a glass, a sign he wasn’t fit for duty. 

Instead of launching straight into the case, Jakes loitered in the middle of the room. 

“Look, I couldn’t help noticing you did a flit earlier… Are you alright?’

“I’m fine.” 

Jakes shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around again. “Well you don’t seem it.”

“A family matter.” He lied. An idea, an opportunity for escape hit him. “I might have to go home for a few days.”

Jakes nodded but he held Morse’s gaze. For a moment something passed between them. A question that went unanswered. An offer disregarded. 

Then they moved on and discussed the case. Morse only imparted the information about Father Grayling when he later called Thursday. He didn’t entirely trust himself with Jakes. 

Once that was done, Morse packed up his things, called the station to leave a message about a family emergency, and left.

\----

Morse didn’t know where to go. It felt wrong to go back to his flat in Oxford.

Despite the ‘family emergency’ being a lie, he found himself drawn back to Lincolnshire. There was no one there for him of course. Gwen wouldn’t want to see him, and Joyce had moved away with her fiancé. 

He wondered what his father would have thought of a sudden visit. He wondered if he had ever known why it was that he couldn’t forgive him.

Still Jakes’ words pursued him. 

_‘You wouldn’t last two minutes...’_

Yet now they felt like they were driving him on, driving him to prove himself.

He set up in a cheap bed and breakfast near the station. After a couple of days of indecision he finally decided to use the time to get some closure.

\----

He chose a simple, understated, flower for his mother’s grave. The florist had warned it was invasive and likely to escape the confines of its pot. He hoped she was right.

If it hadn’t been for his mother’s escape from his father he would have never escaped that school, so it seemed fitting his tribute to her should escape and fill the place with wildflowers.

The school was a harder journey to convince himself to make, but eventually he found the courage. He needed to face the past. 

It was something of an anti-climax to find the place had been torn down. It had been erased so effectively you might never have known it was there. 

But he would know. He would _always_ know.

In the end the building was nothing more than bricks and mortar. The school itself remained in the lessons it had taught him, etched in his memory, engraved on his skin.

Yet it was gone, and here he stood. 

He had survived.

\----

He arrived back to Oxford to find that Grayling had been arrested and charged. Something about fraud. One of the boys had found out and, knowing one another through the church, had worked to find out if he was doing the same at each school. They had tried to blackmail him, and ended up paying the price with their lives.

Morse felt guilty that they had all died because of his own wallowing in melancholy, but not for leaving it up to Thursday and Jakes to bring him in.

He invented an ailing great aunt as an excuse for his absence. Thursday seemed to believe him, but Jakes looked sceptical.

\----

Jakes caught up to him as he was leaving for the day.

“Morse! Wait up.” This time Morse stopped and waited for him. He had walked away from Peter Jakes far too many times recently. “About the other day...”

Jakes’ words were interrupted by a pair of officers leading Grayling out of the station to be taken to prison custody.

Morse’s eyes met Grayling’s and he knew he had not only heard Jakes’ call, but also made the connection he had made just days before. He felt the air knocked from his lungs by the shock of it. He should have known he would have to cross paths with him.

Grayling smiled as he passed them. “Morse, eh? I should have recognised you sooner little Endeavour.”

Grayling gave a casual wave as they rounded the corner and out of sight. Morse remained frozen in place, unable to convince his screaming muscles to move even an inch. 

When a hand landed on his shoulder it felt like he had been struck by electricity and he jumped back.

“Sorry…” Peter held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry, Morse, you were… miles away there. Are you alright?” Morse wanted to speak, to make light of the encounter, but it felt like someone had glued his mouth shut. “Come on, you need a drink.” Peter offered a tentative smile.

“I’m fine.”

“Morse, look… I get it. I was… wrong. It’s always the times you don’t correct me that I know I’m the most wrong, and I’m sorry about that.”

“You don’t need to apologise.”

“I do.” Peter shrugged and looked away, clearly in uneasy territory. “I know that look, alright? I _know_ it.” His meaning, although well hidden, was as clear as day to Morse. They didn’t need to speak the words to acknowledge the certainty of their mutual horrors.

“It wasn’t him.” He found himself saying.

“I know. Still, doesn’t mean you don’t need a drink.” Peter looked him in the eye, a hint of a challenge in his posture. “You were decent to me that day. I think you would have stayed, seen me right, if it weren’t for…” He trailed off, unable to finish.

“I would.” Morse asserted. If it hadn’t been for the call to action, the need to get to Thursday, he would have stuck by Peter, even if he was only Sergeant Jakes to him then.

“Thank you.” Peter’s look was one of sincerity. 

Morse took a deep breath but the ground still felt shaky beneath his feet. “You’re right this time. I do need a drink.” He confessed.

Peter offered a small smile. “Come on then, first round is on me.” 

Morse hesitated, then smiled in return. There were so many things they weren’t saying, but perhaps they didn’t need words to speak. In their case the smallest of actions spoke far louder than words. So Morse took the offered drink, and all that it meant, and knew that for an evening at least there would be someone by his side as he drank his way through the darkness, someone who knew. Someone who _knew._ Perhaps together they could keep their ragged ghosts at bay just long enough to find some small measure of peace.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last short work in progress I have (apart from one I've pretty much abandoned) so now I really have no excuse to finish that long fic, right? Right??


End file.
